


To Make You Feel My Love

by Morgana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3577998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters each have their own idea about how to fix this whole demonic problem</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The shots weren’t helping. Cas had looked Dean over and shaken his head, waiting until they were in the corridor outside to tell Sam that aside from the pain the blood was causing, Dean was unaffected. The mark was apparently protecting him from any true transformation. Cas had laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder and said, “I’ll leave you alone for a while. When you need me, just call.”

Sam knew what Cas expected from him. It was the same thing his Dad would’ve expected, the same thing Dean himself would’ve expected. He had to kill his brother. He swallowed hard, trying to remind himself that it wasn’t really his brother, just a demon in his skin, and Dean would’ve been the first to tell him to put him down. Like he was some kind of rabid dog, where death was the only mercy Sam could offer him. He tried not to think about Dean’s promise not to show him mercy, but it wasn’t easy, especially when he heard a rough voice call out, “Sammy! You gonna leave me in here all alone while you try to man up or what?”

Closing his eyes, Sam offered up a silent prayer for the strength to go through with it. He pushed the door open and walked over to the table to pick the knife up. “So, looks like you’ve got yourself a pet demon,” Dean said, smirking at him. “Unless, of course, you wanna show me that you’re more than just a whiny bitch who doesn’t have the balls to be a real hunter.” Inky black eyes stared at him, their reflection in the knife like a siren’s song that should have strengthened his reserve. “Of course, if we’re talking about balls, I do have to admit that you’ve got yourself a pretty impressive pair. And I should know, right, Sammy?”

It wasn’t fair, what hearing himself called Sammy in that voice did to him, had done to him since he was thirteen and Dean had flopped into his bed reeking of cheap beer and a cheaper girl, only to call him ‘Sammy’ and kiss him like Sam was the last swallow of water left in an endless desert. Sam turned away from Dean, unwilling to let him see that, demon or not, his reaction to that name hadn’t changed.

Unfortunately, Dean could always read him like a book. “You got a little problem, there, Sammy? Not that anything about you is little anymore.” The triumph in his voice was unmistakable, an echo of the pride he’d always taken in how much Sam wanted him and how easy it was for him to reduce Sam to a begging, pleading mess with just a few well-chosen words. “You’ve got something else you’d like to shove into me instead of that knife, don’tcha? C’mon, Sammy, put it down and get your ass over here and show me what you really want to do to me.”

“Shut up,” he managed to say, clutching the knife hard enough that his knuckles turned white. He could do this. He had to do this - for Dean, for Cas, for the world, but most of all, for himself. As long as there was something walking around in Dean’s body, calling him Sammy in Dean’s voice, he would never be safe, because he would never be able to just turn him loose and ignore him.

“See, now you’re gonna hurt my feelings. I thought we had something special, but apparently I was wrong. Cause if I wasn’t, you wouldn’t let a little thing like me being a demon keep you from fucking me through the mattress.” _Like you did with Ruby_. The words were unspoken, but not unheard. “C’mon, Sammy, you wouldn’t leave me alone like this, wouldja? With no way to even take care of myself? That’s just cruel, man.”

He wasn’t supposed to leave him alone at all, not until the job was done. But he couldn’t kill his brother when he was using that soft, wheedling tone on him, the one that had convinced Sam to let Dean put ‘just the tip’ inside when he’d planned on waiting until his seventeenth birthday to do more than just jerk off together. It was that voice that had nearly made it impossible for Sam to leave, that voice that was the reason he’d packed his bag and left in the middle of the night, before Dean could look at him and call him Sammy and ask him to stay, that voice that had always gotten Dean whatever he wanted, whether it was girls, guns, a hunt, the Impala, or Sam. And it was that voice that Sam had to ignore now.

It wasn’t until he heard the door slam shut behind him that he realized that he’d actually done it. He’d walked out on Dean, turned his back on temptation and done the right thing, for once. Sam looked down at the knife in his hand, then slowly put it away. He’d do what had to be done, but not tonight. Tonight he wanted to get good and drunk.

*****

“Saaaaaaammmmmmmmeeeeeeeee...”

Sam closed his eyes and tried to ignore the way his dick twitched at the sound of Dean’s plaintive whine. He’d meant to get drunk in his room, lock himself in and crawl into the bottle, secure in the knowledge that he was safe behind salt lines, a devil’s trap, and four holy-water painted locks. But the road to Hell was paved with one good intention after another, and here he was, sitting in the hallway just outside Dean’s door, swilling directly from the bottle while Dean made all sorts of delicious sounds in his cell, sounds that made Sam think of just how badly he wanted things he had no business wanting. Not with this Dean, at any rate.

“C’mon, Sammy, you know you want it,” Dean wheedled, and Sam bit back a groan as he dropped a hand into his lap, pressing his palm against his dick. He _did_ want it - that was the problem. Dean wasn’t in the driver’s seat right now, or at least, his Dean, his brother wasn’t, and Sam felt like it was cheating to want to fuck the demon in his brother’s skin. “You don’t have to untie me. Just come in here and shove that big-ass dick of yours in me. Wanna feel it splitting me open.”

_God_. Sam took another swig of tequila and let himself actually think about it. He pictured walking in there and bending Dean over the chair, pulling his pants down, prepping him just enough to keep from tearing him up when he pushed in. He’d be hot and tight, and Sam could fuck him hard and fast, chase his own orgasm and maybe he’d let Dean get off or maybe he wouldn’t. He shifted a little on the floor, stroking himself through his jeans, feeling the denim start to get damp as he began to leak. “Fuck,” he whispered, bucking up into his hand before he took another drink.

“I know you’re out there Sammy,” Dean said, his voice getting husky and breathless the way it always did when he was hard and hungry for it. “You thinking about fucking me? Or maybe you wanna choke me on that big fat dick of yours. You could, you know. Walk in here and unzip, then shove me down on it. Fuck, I love it when you fuck my mouth.”

A moan slipped out when he thought about just how true that statement was. Dean had never made a secret of how much he enjoyed sucking Sam’s cock. He’d gotten off on that alone before, moaning and coming right after Sam did, and Sam had jerked off for years to the memory of Dean’s face, flushed and shocked, with come painting his lips, making him look like a debauched angel who’d been caught off-guard by how much he enjoyed it. He thought about unzipping and jerking off properly, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would be like admitting that Dean had won, and he wasn’t about to do that. Not unless he got his brother back for good.

Of course, the demon in Dean’s body didn’t care about that, because he let out a loud, breathless moan. “Shit, Sammy, hearing you like that... I’m so fucking hard, man. Wanna suck you, fucking choke on your cock, feel you shoot off right down my throat, wanna get fucked hard by that monster dick til I come all over myself. You love it when I do that, don’tcha? Love making me come on your cock?”

Dean knew just how much Sam loved that. He always got off twice as hard when he got to watch Dean come just from being fucked. And from the sound of it, Dean would go off like a bottle rocket when he got inside, maybe last three or four strokes, but then Sam would be lucky to last much longer himself. It had just been too long since they’d done more than exchange quick handjobs with an occasional blowjob when it was late and they couldn’t sleep. And even that had been almost non-existent the more the Mark took hold until it had been several months since any had but his own had touched his dick. “Yeah,” he whispered, moaning a little louder after his next drink. “God, Dean...”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean responded immediately, and maybe it was the tequila or maybe it was the celibacy, but it was almost like it was really his brother behind that door, talking him through it like he used to do in the back of the Impala after school or on the phone in his first year at Stanford. Almost as though he was reading his mind, Dean asked, “You remember that time I called you at the library? When you shot off in your pants right there at the table?”

This time there was no hiding his moan, no denying the need in it, just like he couldn’t deny the hard ridge of his dick that was pressing against his fly. “You can have it, you know,” Dean told him. “Everything you want, whatever you want. Explore all those dirty little kinks you don’t want to admit you have.”

Sam closed his eyes and rubbed a little harder, his breathing coming faster as he thought about taking him up on that offer. Not that he _would_ , since he didn’t want Dean to run for the hills the second he got this fixed, but he sure as hell didn’t mind thinking about it at the moment. Especially since Dean kept right on talking, telling him all about how he hadn’t had a decent fuck since the last time Sam had pinned him down and nailed his prostate til he saw God and heard the angels sing. He promised to fulfill every filthy little fantasy Sam had ever had, and Sam told himself that there was no way he could really do that, not when he didn’t even know what they were.

But Sam knew. And there was no way he could shut the thoughts out, not now that he’d gotten started. So he took another long pull from the bottle, leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes and rubbed a little faster as he gave in to them, just this once. It wasn’t long before he was coming, hot and sharp and sweet, pulsing out into his pants while Dean growled dirty promises in that dark voice that both was and wasn’t his brother’s. In that one moment, while Sam was riding the crest of the best climax he’d had in months, he knew that he couldn’t kill Dean. Not when there might still be some kind of chance that he could get his brother and lover back. Dean hadn’t given up on him when he was a blood addict or soulless or any of a hundred other times, and Sam wasn’t about to give up on Dean when he hadn’t yet exhausted every single lead out there.

Now he just had to figure out how to tell Cas that doing the right thing had taken a back seat to fixing Dean, with or without Heaven’s help. But first he was going to finish his tequila and crawl into bed - right after a long, hot shower.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam managed to crawl out of bed at some point before noon, but only enough to piss, puke, brush his teeth, then puke again before he gave up. He took two aspirin, drank as much water as he thought he could get to stay down, then crawled back into bed. It was late afternoon when he woke up again, and this time when he got up, he was much steadier on his feet. He took a shower, brushed his teeth several times to try to get the taste of tequila and barf out of his mouth, then trudged into the kitchen to stare at the contents of the fridge.

He missed Dean. If he were here - really here and not chained to a chair in a locked cell - he’d have been teasing Sam about his inability to hold his liquor, but he’d also have been taking care of him, making sure he took pain meds and drank water, along with cooking something greasy and perfect for hangovers that he’d bully him into eating. And Sam would complain and feel like he was going to puke all over again, but in the end, he’d feel better, just like he always did when Dean was taking care of him.

There were eggs and bell peppers and cheese and bacon, but he didn’t bother trying to make a scramble. He’d never been as good as Dean at making surprisingly good food from practically nothing. Steaks, salads, pasta, and hamburger were the limit of his culinary skills. Eventually he settled on having a bowl of cereal, trying all the while not to think about Dean sitting in the cell down the hall. Or about the impossible task he had in front of him.

He started by going through the card catalog, pulling every single card that dealt with demons, possession, exorcism, and arcane or dark magic. Cas and Dean both would kill him for even thinking about the last option, but if it meant Dean would be _there_ to kill him, then Sam was happy to risk it. Once he had the cards pulled and ordered, he went back into the kitchen to review his dinner options. Without going out for food, there wasn’t a whole lot of choice, so he settled on making thin spaghetti with some of the meat sauce Dean liked along with it. He briefly considered going to get one of the books to read while it cooked, but if the mac and cheese incident had taught him anything, it was that reading and cooking weren’t a good mix. One always ended up being more important than the other, and he didn’t want to hear what the demon would say if he set the smoke alarm off. Again.

The trouble with that was that cooking was _boring_. Sam didn’t understand what people found so fascinating about cooking shows, since most of cooking meant standing around staring at a stove waiting for something to happen. But Dean loved them, to the point that Sam had sometimes thought his love for Paula Dean and her fascination with butter and grease bordered on obsession. But then, butter and grease were definitely two ways to Dean’s heart. When he was reasonably sure the spaghetti was done, Sam drained the water off, heated the sauce up, then mixed everything together and prepared two bowls. Demons didn’t need to eat, but Sam couldn’t starve his brother. Not unless he wanted to listen to Dean bitch endlessly when he got back to a body that was a good twenty pounds lighter and a lot weaker.

Unfortunately, that meant dealing with the demon at least once a day. Sam left his own food in the microwave and took Dean’s supper down the hall, where he paused for a minute outside the door, then pushed it open and walked in, holding the bowl up when the demon looked up. “Time to eat.”

“You aren’t seriously gonna act like it’s business as usual, are you, Sammy? Not after last night.” When he didn’t answer, just pulled a chair up to sit outside the circle, the demon smirked at him. “Guess you are. But you were always good at that, weren’tcha?”

“Shut up.” Sam shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth to reinforce the order, and either the pasta wasn’t bad or there was still enough Dean in there to not want to waste food, because he ate it and even opened up willingly for the next forkful as well.

“I remember, back when we were kids, I used to be a mess afterwards. Always thought it was written all over my face and Dad or some teacher was gonna start calling me a pervert, take you away from me because I was corrupting you.” Another bite. “But I was wrong, wasn’t I, Sammy? You were the one corrupting me, you and that demon blood of yours. Shoulda known even - hell, you ever think that maybe _that’s_ why Dad was never home? That he knew about you and couldn’t risk being around you too much?”

Sam shoved the next bite in more forcefully than he really intended. He tried to tell himself that this wasn’t Dean, that this was just the demon using what was in Dean’s memories to hurt him, but at the same time, he remembered Dean’s voice calling him a monster and talking about putting him down, doing what he should have done long ago. At the same time, he wondered if it was true, if Dean really had been worried about getting caught when they were messing around as kids. He’d certainly never let on to it if he had.

The demon stared at him, then started to laugh. “Seriously? You’ve been carrying that around for, what, five years now?”

“Yeah, well, it isn’t every day my own brother tells me I’m a bloodsucking freak who’s beyond saving,” he said bitterly, shoving another bite in his mouth. Hopefully he could finish this up soon and get back to his own dinner and research before the demon had a chance to spew more of its poison.

Dean shook his head, and if it weren’t for the cold eyes, Sam would’ve thought his grin was the real thing. "Trust me, man, you got the wrong guy this time. Not that I wouldn’t be happy to see you pick up your old ways - and my blood is way better than that bitch Ruby’s, but that wasn’t what I said at all."

Sam just shoved another bite in his mouth. "Don't even try to play games with me, Dean. I have the damn voicemail message, okay? I know just what you said."

"Hey, I wish I _could_ claim it, cause it's pretty clear it messed you up real good, but that wasn't me," Dean argued once he could speak again. "I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was some kind of sentimental crap along the lines of us still being brothers and family not changing. Nothing about blood-sucking freaks or monsters, although if you want to take it up again…" He leered at Sam, but all he got for his effort was one last bite shoved into his mouth before Sam pushed the chair back and got to his feet.

"I'd say have a good night, but I really couldn’t care less," he spat, grabbing the chair to drag it back over to the table.

"Aw, c’mon, Sammy, don’t be like that."

"Why do you care?" Sam asked wearily. "You’re getting what you want, aren’t you? So what difference does it make to you how I feel?" He wasn’t about to believe, even for a minute, that Dean wouldn’t be getting something out of this.

"Cause I’m going out of my mind stuck here all day and night with no TV or anything," Dean whined, and that, Sam could readily believe. Dean’s attention span was notoriously short outside of a hunt or in bed with Sam. Then, he was the most patient man alive.

Sam set the bowl down and crossed his arms over his chest. "Remind me why I should care about you being bored."

"You'll care a hell of a lot when I start to stink if you don't let me shower sometime soon," Dean pointed out, and it was on the tip of Sam's tongue to offer him a holy water bath. Dean must've realized that, because he immediately switched tactics. "C'mon, bring your research in here. You can read about shit that isn't gonna work here just as easily as you can out there."

He could, and if he'd thought Dean was asking because he actually wanted him there, he probably would, but Sam wasn't about to give the demon the satisfaction of knowing that. "You can shower once I fix you," he said flatly, then picked up the bowl and turned to go.

"Sammy, wait!" The desperation he thought he heard was enough to stop him in his tracks, but Sam forced himself not to turn around. "Please. I just - I need something before I go completely around the bend, here. You really wanna hang your own brother out to dry like that, huh?"

"According to you, I never had a brother," he shot back, and some small, vicious part of himself took a truly mean joy in being able to throw those words back in the demon's face. "So why should I care if you go crazy?"

"Good point," Dean admitted without his usual grudging allowance that Sam might be right about something. "Okay, so how's this - you hang out here with me and I'll tell you the truth about ebola."

He turned around, giving Dean the look that let him know just how full of shit Sam knew he was. "Ebola," he said. "Really, Dean? Ebola's a virus. There's nothing supernatural about it."

"Sure, Sammy. Whatever you say." But he was smirking, the smug look clearly saying that he knew better.

Sam scowled at him, caught between his need to get away and spend as little time as possible around Dean and the knowledge that, if there really were a supernatural component to ebola, it was his duty as a hunter to find out. "Fine. What is it?"

Dean shook his head. "Uh-uh. First you go get your research materials and get settled in."

"Look, I promise I'll research in here tonight," Sam offered.

But Dean wasn't buying it. "I don't deal in promises, Sammy. Of course, if you're looking to do more than research, I'm open to that..."

Sam could feel a muscle in his jaw ticking. "I'll go get the books," he said shortly. Dean's laughter rang in his ears as he turned around and left. Just to prove that _he_ was the one running the show and not Dean, Sam took his sweet time going back. He sat down at the table and ate his dinner, even though the pasta was lukewarm, slightly gummy, and not at all appetizing anymore. Once he was done, he washed both bowls and forks, as well as the pan he'd cooked in, briefly considered brewing some coffee, then collected several books that he knew Dean had already read, along with a notebook and pen, and headed back down the hall to Dean's room.

"About time," Dean complained once he let himself in. "I was starting to think you weren't coming back."

"I had to eat dinner," was Sam's terse reply as he sat down at the table. "Now start talking."

Dean smirked. "Sure. You want me to start with Noe's pet project or would you rather hear about how nervous I was the first time we fooled around? Or maybe I could tell you about Rhonda -"

"You already did that," Sam snapped, not wanting to sit through a reliving of Dean's greatest hits. It had been hell hearing about it the first time, when he'd been fifteen and acutely aware of just how much _he_ wanted to be the one watching Dean strut around in his pretty pink panties, seeing how much he loved it, how turned on he was... Sam glared at Dean and said, "Just tell me already."

"Okay, but it's pretty boring. See, it all started when Noe discovered Plague. I could've told Crowley letting his people have smart phones was a bad idea, but he was all about bringing 'em into the digital age. Anyway, she kept losing the damn game, so she decided to try playing the real life version." He shrugged. "So far it's going better for her than her usual starting round."

Sam had been prepared for a story about Pestilence making a comeback, about some kind of demonic attempt at wiping out humanity so they could claim the world, but this... "So you're saying ebola is basically a _game_ for some demon?!?"

Dean nodded. “You got it. I think it’s pretty dumb, but Crowley was impressed enough that Noe got a promotion out of it.”

Something didn’t sound right. Sam frowned as he tried to think about what he’d read about the disease. Its high death toll certainly fit with it being demonic in origin, but - “Wait a minute. Ebola was discovered in 1976!”

“Yeah, so?”

Sam shook his head. “So that was way before either Plague or smart phones existed.”

“I didn’t _say_ Noe invented it,” Dean explained slowly, as though he were talking to a particularly dense kindergartner. “Just that she’s responsible for the current epidemic.”

“Oh.” Somehow, knowing that it was a natural disease just made it worse. “So there’s no real way to fight it, then.”

“Proper equipment and sterilization, effective infrastructure and quarantine policies, along with a shit ton of foreign aid and drugs?” was Dean’s suggestion. “Of course, we all know none of that’s likely to come along anytime soon.” When Sam scowled and grabbed one of his books, Dean gave him a look that might have been called sympathetic if he weren’t a demon. “Sorry, Sammy. Looks like you’re gonna have to let the UN handle this one.”

“Shut up.” He couldn’t believe he’d let himself get tricked like that. As long as he’d been dealing with demons, he should’ve known better than to trust one, even one that looked just like his brother. The bratty little brother part of Sam was half-tempted to give it right back - research for all of three minutes, then leave, It really would serve him right, even if it meant more trouble for Sam.

Something must’ve warned Dean that he was pushing his limits, because he didn’t say anything else for almost half an hour. Not that the silence really helped Sam with his research, but at least he could reread the same useless passages in peace.

That was, until Dean decided that he was bored. To give him credit, he lasted 29 minutes longer than Sam would’ve expected him to. “You’re reading The Dorminian Dark Compendium? Seriously, Sammy? That thing’s a total bust and you know it.”

“So says the demon who doesn’t want to be human again,” Sam shot back without looking up from the exorcism ritual he already knew by heart. Although the one he knew didn’t have such screwed up declension as this crap. Seriously, whatever happened to actually _learning_ Latin as opposed to winging it?

“I might not wanna sit still and let you turn me into your personal pet demon, like Crowley did, but watching you chase one useless lead after another is like watching paint dry in slow motion.” Dean cast a disdainful look at the books that were stacked on the table. “C’mon, you already know everything in those books and you know it. Not like you’re gonna find the answer to life’s great mysteries in Demon 101, so you might as well put ‘em away and loosen up.”

Sam snorted, not about to admit that he’d brought these books with him _because_ he already knew everything in them. Better to reread a page for the thousandth time than miss something because Dean was distracting him. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. You’re about to jump out of your skin, you’re so tense.” Dean shook his head. “You need to get laid, man. Bet you haven’t even jerked off in, like, weeks.” Then he smiled, a slow curl of his lips that really shouldn’t send heat coursing through Sam like it did. “Until last night. You got off real good then, didn’t you, Sammy?”

Dean’s voice dipped low on that question, and just like Pavlov’s dog hearing a bell, Sam was hardening, filling out his jeans like he always did. He forced himself to hold still and stare at his book, not shift in his seat or adjust himself, but he could tell Dean knew he was hard. He always did. “Yeah, I could tell you did. You know, you gave me some serious blue balls, man. Got me all worked up listening to you and then left me high and dry... That was pretty fucked up.”

“You deserved it,” he said automatically. “You were way over the line and you know it.”

Dean laughed. “I’m pretty sure we crossed that line out for good when we started messing around, Sammy. And if we didn’t then, I _know_ we obliterated the damn thing when we moved on to fucking.” He lowered his voice. “Remember the first time? You were seventeen, hottest fucking thing I’d ever seen but you didn’t know it. And I couldn’t keep my hands off you. Just had to keep after you, remember?”

Oh yeah, he remembered. It had been the summer just after his junior year, and they’d taken every chance they could get, rutting against each other up against a tree, jerking each other off in the backseat of the Impala while Dad talked business with his other hunter contacts, trading quick blowjobs in anonymous rest stops when they thought Dad would be on the phone long enough to risk it. He’d often thought about it, wondered just why they’d been so hungry for each other - or more to the point, why Dean had been so eager for him. Sam had been seventeen and perpetually horny, both _because_ he was seventeen and because his brother was walking sex who was every bit as good in bed as his swagger promised.

“I could hardly believe it when you said I could fuck you,” Dean told him, his voice that low rumble that never failed to draw Sam’s attention. “Sweet cherry little Sammy. I got so worked up fingering you open that I nearly blew my wad before I even got in you. But then you were grabbing me and you kept saying my name and I was gonna go insane if I couldn’t fuck you.” He paused for a second and Sam knew if he looked over at him, he’d see him lick his lips. “Good as that was, though, it doesn’t even begin to compare to the first time I got you to fuck me.”

Oh, God. He couldn’t sit still and listen to this. But he couldn’t leave, either, not if he didn’t want to give Dean the satisfaction of knowing just how hard he was, listening to him talk about this. “Don’t,” he said in a low voice.

“Why not? When a man’s god a dick like yours, he deserves to strut a little. Hell, Sammy, you got everything Crowley sold his soul for, and then some.” At that, Sam’s head jerked over to look at Dean, wondering just how his brother knew how his dick compared to the King of Hell’s. Dean smirked and shook his head. “Get your mind outta the gutter, Sammy. Crowley’s son told us all about it, remember?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He went back to reading, but he couldn’t stop wondering who now knew about Dean’s dick. There was no way Dean had been celibate while he was off having his little vacation or whatever, especially not this Dean, who was all about ‘if it feels good, do it’. But he didn’t really want to know. It would just be one more thing to hold against him when he got back, one more thing that would keep them from being able to put this whole thing behind them and move on.

There was one good thing about that, though - it helped kill his hard on far better than a cold shower, and definitely much more comfortably, too. Sam allowed himself to smile, just a little, as he realized that now he had an effective deterrent for the demon’s obvious desire to push him into fucking him. It might not be one he relished, but it would let him focus on his work and not temptation, so he’d take it. With that in mind, he stopped listening to the demon and kept reading.

*****

Four days later, Sam was starting to think he might need to rethink his position on that whole ‘mental weapon against the demon’ thing, if only because using it to block out the almost constant sexual suggestions meant having to dwell on Dean sleeping with other people. Neither of them had ever claimed to be saints, but as far as he knew, Dean hadn’t been with anybody but him in years. Thinking about him rolling around in the bed with some nameless, faceless woman (or worse, a man) made Sam feel slightly sick. It also made him half-crazed with jealousy until the more he thought about it, the harder it go to eep from shoving Dean down onto the nearest flat surface and showing him just who he really belonged to.

He tried not to think about that, but in between the demon’s suggestions and his own need to wipe out the memory of the others, it was hard not to. Last night in his solitary bed, he hadn’t been able to resist anymore. Sam had told himself it was a one-time thing, a momentary weakness, but when he’d finally given in, reached down into his pajama pants and closed a hand around his aching dick, he’d forgotten everything but how fucking good it felt. The demon would never have to know, never have to realize that Sam was actually thinking about his suggestion, picturing fucking him hard and fast.

Just like he would never have to know that Sam was thinking about black eyes when he came.


End file.
